Chapter 1900 - 521: An Even More Bewildering Third Level Conference Than the Colin Family_4

The tall figure blocked the light from the kerosene lamp, casting a shadow across the edge of the long table, eyes fixed intently on the stage.

He was the most relied upon vassal of Duke Eiffel, and usually, he wouldn't obey even the King, let alone a baron who climbed up through flattery?

"When our ancestors bled on this land, you didn't even know which tree you were a monkey on, and you dare talk to me about duty?"

Baron Wickton's eyes widened, glaring at the Earl, just about to retort, but was rudely interrupted by the latter.

"We carved out the land beneath your feet with blood and guarded the kingdom with swords! Our duty has never slackened for a moment! And you dare talk to me about duty?"

He drew his sword from his waist and slammed it heavily onto the table with a "bang".

The resounding clatter did not intimidate the experienced Wickton, but it did scare the few "allies" he had brought along.

"This is the tax we've paid!" Duke Eiffel's vassal squinted his eyes, his face exuding a murderous aura, "I place it here. Do you dare to take it!"

The lively theater turned from joy to sorrow in an instant, the switch in style so abrupt that even the priests sitting on the left were caught off guard.

They were actually prepared for the King to perform his play, ultimately intending to offer some money, but this Earl...

It doesn't seem like he's acting.

Newcastle's face stiffened, his hand involuntarily gripping the armrest, his body leaning slightly forward, his eyes instinctively drifting towards the door.

By Saint Sis...

He thought Baron Wickton had a backup plan?

How come...

It doesn't seem like he does?

The Earl's resolute response ignited the powder keg, and the accompanying boos behind him overwhelmed Wickton's argument in an instant.

"Well said!"

"The Philippe Family despises you! To weigh decaying money against the honor passed down through our generations on the same scale is an insult to honor!"

"Get out! The King's lapdog!"

"Your family will be shamed by your betrayal today!"

The once solemn and serious parliamentary hall instantly turned into a noisy marketplace, these well-dressed nobles surprisingly devoid of a single ounce of noble demeanor.

They heckled loudly, condemning the Royal Family for betrayal and attempting to destroy the sacred contract of "nobles exempt from taxes" upheld for hundreds of years, forcing them to pay the King like vendors begging in the marketplace.

What does he take nobles for!

Newcastle stared in amazement at the bickering nobles, for a moment even forgetting to flee, and besides... he felt he might not need to run after all.

These nobles were wise, completely ignoring the six civilians sitting in the corner, focusing all their energy on the "instigator".

The clamor behind him gave the Earl boundless courage, he looked disdainfully at Wickton on the stage and delivered the final blow.

"Mr. Wickton, the nobles of Ryan won't fill the Kingdom's void for you. Instead of extorting His Majesty's loyal subjects here, consider persuading your Majesty to sell the title of Twilight Province to a powerful gentleman. I believe many would pay a high price for a Duke's title."

After speaking, the Earl didn't give the latter any chance to retort, snorted coldly, and left with a swish of his sleeve.

This move triggered a chain reaction, a large group of nobles followed behind the Earl, leaving in anger with equally dissatisfied moods.

On the other side, the priests remained unmoved, with playful expressions, watching this discourteous farce disperse.

Frankly, they didn't expect the nobles and the King to argue first, they thought they would be the fat sheep of this meeting.

If it were to exchange for the increase of clerical power, they wouldn't mind lending the King more money, after all, they had plenty of worldly gold coins.

But looking at it now, they might have overestimated that Majesty. That seemingly strong old man, in reality, had one foot already in the grave.

Perhaps this is Saint Sis's punishment for the Devalu family, provoking the Divine by pushing that clown-like guy to the bishop's position.

They've endured Theoden for a long time now.

In less than five minutes, more than half of the previously bustling conference hall was empty.

The lighting in the amphitheater remained the same, but it only illuminated Baron Wickton's awkward and darkened face, standing on stage not knowing how to wrap things up.

He was also quite helpless.

Logically, those nobles would fear the Lion Heart Knight Order, yet today they appeared exceptionally brazen.

Perhaps the "Radiant Knight" being stationed at the frontlines for too long, made these treacherous people feel that the Majesty couldn't wield the sword anymore, daring to slam their swords on the table to provoke!

Actually, besides feeling helpless, Baron Wickton was also a bit puzzled.

Logically, in the name of gold coins, His Majesty would certainly not let him fight this battle alone, which was his greatest confidence as a baron.

However, what he didn't understand was, why he was standing at the frontline, ready to fight to the death, yet not a shadow of His Majesty's reinforcements was in sight.

This is very unreasonable...

In the corner, the silent Professor Ferguson let out a cold laugh, seemingly the only spectator in the amphitheater who guessed the outcome.

He even guessed the ending that didn't play out, for from ancient to modern times, it was always the audience who paid for stage plays, never the actors on stage who settled the bill.

He didn't mind the money, for that was merely worldly possessions.

He only lamented the fate of Roland City.

The undead who died in the Winter Moon fire hadn't truly closed their eyes, every blood debt would be settled with interest when the day of reckoning comes.

The cold laugh of disappointment eventually turned into a muted sigh, he glanced at the only Campbell person present, then left without another word.

Make a mess, go ahead and make a mess!

Newcastle watched Mr. Ferguson's departing silhouette, then glanced at the four "plants" beside him who were scared stiff, feeling both amused and helpless.

"By Saint Sis..."

Newcastle made a cross on his chest.

He had sold a fire extinguisher to a group of Flame Demons pouring oil on themselves.

Jokes aside, he was actually a little impressed with himself.